


we're only built to fall

by sootandshadow



Series: you're like an anchor on my soul [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, DMC3 boys talking about their feelings in this house? Unlikely, Incest, M/M, Pre-Relationship, TNG with a twist, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow
Summary: They fall together, through an inky darkness as black as a void, before they are deposited into what appears to be a shallow stream at the bottom of the portal. Like mirror images, they both grab their respective amulets and make a break for their father’s sword, and for a split second Dante tastes the bitterness of defeat as he sees Vergil’s fingers reach the hilt a heartbeat before his do.Only, instead of grasping onto it, Vergil’s fingers slip straight through, like he’s just tried to grab onto air. It surprises him as much as it does Dante, and before either of them can change their course the two of them collide. For all that the impact doesn’t hurt, it still knocks Dante flat on his backside with a muted splash into water that is suddenly completely still, like it’s been frozen in time. Vergil, too, staggers backward, but manages to stay upright if only by sheer force of will. The confused outrage on Vergil’s face would be more amusing if Dante wasn’t equally as irritated by this sudden deception— not that he’s about to let Vergil in on that one, though.“Looks like our dear old dad had one final trick up his sleeve, huh,” Dante says, plastering a wide grin on his face as he hauls himself to his feet.





	we're only built to fall

**Author's Note:**

> My secret santa contribution for the second Spardacest Server Secret Santa! <3
> 
> Many thanks to my usual crew who lets me bounce ideas off of them; you know who you are. I am blessed by your companionship and tolerance for my daily bs.

Arkham falls exactly how Dante had expected him to: spewing nonsense and with absolutely zero style. 

The disgust Dante feels about having to deal with such a repulsive, spotlight-stealing foe is easily eclipsed by the high of having his brother fight at his side, excitement buzzing in his veins,. He can still feel the weight of Vergil’s sword in his hand, the lingering warmth of his brother’s back against his own, the gooseflesh that had prickled along his arms when he and Vergil had spoken their old catchphrase as one. Temporary truces like these had been a rarity in their childhood, but they’d always been accompanied by the same deliciously sweet satisfaction that now curls in Dante’s belly. Nothing could stand in their way when they worked together; they were invincible. 

(It was nice to know that at least one thing he believed in as a child has withstood the test of time.) 

Dante savours their comradery like a fine wine, lets it sizzle in his core as he catches his gun from Vergil’s artfully careless toss. It was hard to believe that they had been apart for more than ten years, that the last time he’d fought alongside his brother like this they’d been too small to wield the swords they now handle with ease. Dante’s grown substantially as a fighter since then, and it’s apparent that Vergil has as well, yet despite their growth and separation they can still keep up with each other as effortlessly as breathing, their coordinated attacks as relentless as rushing water. Dante almost wishes that Arkham could have put up a little bit more of a fight; at least then he could have enjoyed fighting alongside his brother for a little while longer. 

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on such things. Out of Arkhman’s quickly dissipating form falls their father’s sword and, more importantly, their amulets. Dante sees Vergil run for them, starts after him a second later, and they both sprint across the uneven battlefield towards the yawning portal that opens up to swallow their prize. Vergil doesn’t hesitate to dive after the falling heirlooms and Dante doesn’t let the threat of the unknown stop him either. He’s not about to let Vergil off that easy; Dante still owes him some payback for leaving him to bleed out on the top of the tower, after all. 

They fall together, through an inky darkness as black as a void, before they are deposited into what appears to be a shallow stream at the bottom of the portal. Like mirror images, they both grab their respective amulets and make a break for their father’s sword, and for a split second Dante tastes the bitterness of defeat as he sees Vergil’s fingers reach the hilt a heartbeat before his do. 

Only, instead of grasping onto it, Vergil’s fingers slip straight through, like he’s just tried to grab onto air. It surprises him as much as it does Dante, and before either of them can change their course the two of them collide. For all that the impact doesn’t hurt, it still knocks Dante flat on his backside with a muted splash into water that is suddenly completely still, like it’s been frozen in time. Vergil, too, staggers backward, but manages to stay upright if only by sheer force of will. The confused outrage on Vergil’s face would be more amusing if Dante wasn’t equally as irritated by this sudden deception— not that he’s about to let Vergil in on that one, though. 

“Looks like our dear old dad had one final trick up his sleeve, huh,” Dante says, plastering a wide grin on his face as he hauls himself to his feet. Vergil doesn’t even spare him a second glance. Instead, his twin puts the tip of his boot carefully through the hilt of the Force Edge, only to snarl something unflattering under his breath when the results of his experiment are not what he desires. For all that the sword is visible, solid-looking and half-buried in the stream, it appears they cannot interact with it. Dante doesn’t bother testing what his brother has already proven, instead turning his attention to the faint crystalline barrier he can just make out like a dome above them. Unlike his words, his movement catches Vergil’s attention and together, like two feral dogs circling each other, they stalk around the edges of their new prison, testing its limits. Their cage allows them to move perhaps twenty feet away from the Force Edge before their progress is halted, and no amount of brute force seems to be enough to break them out. 

(Not for lack of trying on either of the twins’ parts.) 

Dante gives up on the hack and slash escape plan before Vergil does, busying himself instead by sticking his fingers through the illusion of the Force Edge. It responds to him much the same way it did to Vergil, looking solid enough to grasp but not allowing him to do so. That was a real bummer. He’d wanted to feel the heft of the sword in his hands at least once, if only because if he didn’t touch it then Arkham would be its last wielder. That in and of itself would be a terrible crime. He’d almost rather it went to Vergil than that. 

Speaking of his favourite and only brother—

_Danger_ warns his demon, and Dante raises his head to find Vergil staring straight at him, his brother’s fingers gently caressing the hilt of the Yamato. Vergil’s eyes dart briefly down to the amulet around his neck, and Dante’s hackles rise instinctively. He hadn’t been enough to keep his brother from taking it before, when Vergil had so effortlessly torn it from around his neck and left Dante bleeding out and impaled on his own sword. (Dante doesn’t even want to think about the time before that when Vergil had taken it and then had the gall to _throw it right back in his face._) This time, though, he doesn’t intend to let it go without a fight. 

Vergil seems to sense his resolve, and his eyes flick back upwards to meet Dante’s, dark with unwavering intent. 

“Perhaps more blood must be shed.”

His brother’s voice is like liquid violence and Dante finds himself baring his teeth before he’s even fully committed to the fight that Vergil is inciting. It doesn’t really matter what Dante wants though, not when Vergil is already readying himself to strike, stance wide and secure. Dante knows instinctively that his brother’s words were all the warning Vergil intends to give him, that if Dante doesn’t draw his sword and defend himself, Vergil will have no qualms about striking him down whether he’s ready or not. And really, that suits Dante just fine. Their differences were always settled best with violence. 

The metallic clang of their meeting swords echoes within their prison as they move as one, blades arcing through the air with the intent to spill as much blood as possible. They collide with each other again and again and again until Dante has lost count of how many times they’ve both dragged themselves to their feet to continue the fight, neither willing to go down while they still draw breath. The reddish hue of the water sloshing around their ankles is the only testament to the blood that’s been drawn, as neither Dante nor Vergil bear any marks of their extended combat. They’re both starting to get slower though, their movements becoming sluggish with fatigue. Their shared weakness seems enough to make Vergil keep his distance after what feels like the tenth time one of them has staggered to their feet, and Dante doesn’t move closer to push his luck either. He wants a moment for the stitch in his side to ease up before he goes charging in for more. 

“Guess blood isn’t the answer,” Dante quips, tone as condescending as he can manage while trying to catch his breath. Vergil shoots him a scathing look as he paces back and forth like a trapped panther, frustration oozing out of his every pore. His gaze darts from the Force Edge, which looks as real as before despite being illusory, to Dante, and then back again, no doubt searching for an answer to this particularly troublesome puzzle. Dante lets him stew, jamming the tip of the Rebellion into the ground and using the crossguard as an armrest, determined to enjoy the temporary reprieve as much as he can. Accelerated healing or not, this kind of constant fighting takes a lot out of a half-demon. He has aches in places he didn’t know he could even have aches.

His body may be encouraging him to tap out, but the irritation bubbling in a slow boil underneath his skin hasn’t disappeared yet. He’s not impressed with Vergil, or this tower, or really this whole damn situation. This is a shitty way to end an extremely shitty day, and he hopes wherever their father is he can feel the force of Dante’s displeasure because this whole thing is at least fifty percent his fault. (Or maybe their father is waiting for them in hell and Dante can give him a piece of his mind in person. Asshole.) 

Annoyed by everything, but most of all the lack of distraction from his beaten-up body, Dante breaks the silence again. “Maybe it’ll only let us out if we don’t want the sword.”

Vergil tsks his tongue at him in clear dismissal of the suggestion, but he does stop his pacing and turn his full attention back to Dante. With one hand still on the Yamato, he reaches out with the unoccupied one, palm up, and his expression is one of haughty expectancy. 

“Give me that.” 

Dante knows exactly what it is his brother requires, and reflexively he covers his amulet with his hand. “No way, you got your own.” 

His words do nothing to deter Vergil, who starts to stalk slowly towards him. “But I want yours.” 

When that isn’t enough to convince Dante, Vergil drops his hand and readies himself to draw his sword once more. Dante’s fingers itch as he sets his teeth and reaches for his own sword. Neither of them had taken being told “no” very well as children, but this is a new level of intent even from Vergil. As far as Dante can remember, Vergil had never wanted anything of his this badly. Then again, Dante can’t think of anything he would have considered this important, back then, when he’d believed items could never be worth as much as people. Now that he’s left with keepsakes instead of loved ones, he finds he’s rather changed his tune. 

Dante can’t say he likes this unintentional reminder of just how much he’s lost, least of all coming from someone he thought he’d never see again. 

“You have no need of it,” Vergil continues, voice laden with condescension, seemingly oblivious to Dante’s inner turmoil. Though his hand is on his sword he hasn’t made a move to draw it yet, striking first with his words as though searching for a weak spot. “If you hand it over, I’ll even let you return to your pitiful human life where you can continue to squander away your inheritance.” 

The offer stings, no doubt as Vergil intended them to, and the leather of Dante’s glove creaks as his grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. There is a part of him that still cannot believe that after witnessing the horrors of That Day, Vergil still wants to throw his lot in with the very demons who destroyed their home and murdered their mother. Is this what Vergil aspires to be now? A monster? It’s bad enough that he’s raised a demon tower and nearly succeeded in completely ripping off Sparda’s seal, but to claim that this path he walks is their father’s inheritance? Something inside Dante recoils at the very thought. Though there is very little about their father’s demonic nature that he wishes to emulate, the man still sacrificed a great deal to keep humanity safe. Undoing his hard work seems like spitting on his legacy rather than following in his footsteps. 

(Not that Dante is entirely against that either. The man may have been considered a legend, but as far as Dante’s concerned? He hadn’t been there when they needed him the most, and that solidified Dante’s opinion of him.) 

“‘Inheritance’ my ass. What are you gonna do with all that power, huh?” Dante doesn’t even wait for an answer, determined to drive this particular knife home if only to hit Vergil just as hard as Vergil seems intent on hitting him. “No matter how hard you try you're never gonna be like father." 

At his words, Vergil’s eyes flare a cold and vibrant blue, his devil stirring beneath his skin, and when he curls his lips back into a sneer, his fangs glisten in the light of the barrier. The hairs on the back of Dante’s neck stand on end and he firmly tamps down on the way his body almost shivers, tightening his muscles and clenching his jaw in defiance. Like this, everything about his brother’s very essence promises swift and unrelenting violence, and Dante revels in it, because at least in this Vergil is still the brother he knows. He’d always been easy to provoke, and even though the ensuing fights had always resulted in considerable pain on Dante’s part, he had liked getting under his brother’s skin, knowing that he was the only one who could rip apart that aloof facade and get to the tender parts underneath. It seems old habits really did die hard. 

“Oh I don’t intend to _be like_ father,” Vergil growls at him, gaze still burning with malice. “I intend to surpass him, to do what he could not.” 

They’re circling each other again before Dante even realizes his feet have moved, instinct and blood lust guiding his actions. His demon knows a threat when he sees one, delights at the chance to test its power against a worthy foe, and Dante lets himself ride the high of its excitement, if only to stave off his own fatigue. He refuses to back down from a challenge, especially from his brother, and no amount of protests from his body is going to stop him from seeing this through. 

“Surpass him? Don’t make me laugh. You can’t even surpass me,” Dante goads, and he’s not disappointed when Vergil’s answering snarl resonates in his chest like rolling thunder. He expects the burst of electric heat that comes with the trigger, lets his own crimson energy spark along his skin in answer as he charges at his brother to begin anew. Dante had always thought he’d been quick on his feet, but in this form time almost has no meaning. Together they exchange blows like some kind of choreographed, airborne dance, too fast for the human eye to see but beautiful all the same. Dante pushes his body to give him more, to soar higher, to fly faster, to strike harder, if only so he can keep up with Vergil’s brutality. 

For all their anger, it’s over even faster than their previous fight, both of them worn down by Arkham’s scheming and their own successive battles. Their triggers fizzle out long before they’re ready to abandon them, and they’re forced back down to the ground once more. Dante isn’t quite sure when they’d abandoned their weapons in favour of fighting hand-to-hand, snapping and clawing at each other like animals, but somehow even after all their fights, this one feels the most satisfying. He revels in every blow he manages to land on Vergil, every resounding crack of flesh against flesh and every satisfying crunch of splintering bone, even if Vergil always follows up in kind. There is no part of him that does not ache now, stuck in various stages of healing and re-healing as he piles injuries on top of injuries. They’re going to have to stop at some point, but Dante is determined not to be the first one to fall. 

They end up in the stream, hands clasped like the locked talons of falcons as Dante leans his weight down into Vergil, trying to push Vergil flat onto his back and force him to yield. Dante’s hands ache from the strength of his brother’s grip but he refuses to let go, just as he refuses to allow Vergil to move in any direction but down. Even as Dante’s boots threaten to slide in the water he holds his position, face mere inches from his brother’s as they grapple with all the strength they have left, arms shaking with the strain. He may have gotten Vergil down onto his backside but his brother isn’t out yet. Through the disarray of his sweat-soaked hair, Vergil’s eyes are as cold and furious as a winter storm, and while Dante has seen anger on his brother’s face before, he’s never seen Vergil look quite like this. 

His brother had always had a bad temper; Dante had been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count, mostly because he was the one to provoke it. But even then, when they’d punched and kicked and bit each other with the savagery of children, Vergil’s eyes had never been quite so shuttered, so closed off from everything. His brother may have regarded the outside world with a careful coolness, but he’d never been like that with Dante, never completely guarded his soft and sensitive pieces because they’d been _family_ and family were the people you could trust. Truth be told, this new coldness had been why Dante had been so certain his brother had been a phantom when he’d first appeared before him, had believed him to be some demon trying to play a trick on Dante with eyes too icy and inhuman to be the real Vergil. And yet… 

Something twists sharp and painful in his chest every time that he’s reminded of the truth, that this indifferent Vergil really is his brother— that this brother of his has shut himself off somewhere that even Dante cannot reach, determined to see his quest through to the bitter end. 

But Dante has never taken well to being shut out, least of all when his brother was involved, and with his hands occupied he lashes out with his words instead, looking for some chink in Vergil’s armour that he can get his fingers in. He’ll pry his brother from this callous shell no matter what it takes. 

“We are sons of Sparda! We’re supposed to be stopping demons from overwhelming this world, not letting them run free! He put that seal up to protect us too!”

Vergil’s laugh is so sharp and bitter that it takes Dante aback, the pressure of his grapple easing just enough that Vergil rises up on his knees to bring their faces more level. 

“Protect us? His seal certainly managed to stop Mundus’ hunters from finding us and razing our home to the ground.” 

Dante clenches his teeth, but he doesn’t have a counterargument for that. It should have been enough, shouldn’t it? The seal should have stopped the kind of hoard that had been sent against their home, should have at least ensured that Mundus couldn’t send a veritable army to slaughter a pair of half-demon children and their fully human mother. Their father should have properly protected them from the threat of his former lord, should have actually stuck around for the inevitable because how could he not know Mundus would hunt them, but instead he’d just fucked right off and left—

Vergil’s voice interrupts his thoughts, his words as sharp and well-placed as a cut with his sword. “You don’t need to protest so much. I’m certain opening a portal to Hell will be good for your little business—”

“Stop.” Dante’s mouth tastes like ash and he swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Vergil’s right, but Dante refuses to profit on human misfortune any more than he already does. It feels dirty. 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Vergil sounds smug, like he thinks he’s won, and it makes Dante grind his teeth even more. He’s not wrong, but—

“That’s not the point. The world doesn’t deserve to have that kind of hell unleashed on it.” 

Vergil scoffs. “You act as though humans don’t readily invite demons into this world when it suits them.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“They are not some bastions of all that is good and pure, Dante—”

This argument is going nowhere and doing nothing but raising Dante’s blood pressure, his anger ebbing and flowing like a rising tide. With a snarl he shoves Vergil harder, enjoying the way it makes his brother rock back, almost falling into the water before he manages to catch himself. Dante savours that small victory for what it is, and keeps pushing. 

"Sure, you know what? You’re right. Humans aren't all good, and I didn't give a shit what happened to them when you raised the tower. I just wanted to kick your ass for showing up and trying to take my stuff.” Because one, _rude_, and two, Vergil should have known better than to try and steal the one keepsake he had of their mother. 

His brother looks like he’s about to argue more, because heaven forbid Dante got in the last word, but Dante doesn’t let him start. Instead, he leans even closer, relishing in Vergil’s snarl, and hisses, “But that's not what we're supposed to do, _Vergil_. Mom would have never wanted this."

Vergil goes deathly still beneath him, eyes narrowed, but he closes his mouth for a long moment, lips pressed together in a thin line. The pressure against his arms relaxes enough that Dante doesn’t have to push him anymore, though their hands still remained clasped together. Carefully, not wanting to break the moment, Dante lowers himself down on his knees in front of his brother, and forces himself to be patient. There’s something there, something flickering behind the iron shutters of Vergil’s eyes, something that Dante very much wants to believe in. He’s not sure what it means yet, not sure if he’s even managed to appeal to something human in his brother, but Vergil does finally jerk his hands free and settle back on his haunches with as much dignity as his battered body will allow. Dante takes it as his cue to flop down himself, leaning back on his hands with a loud sigh. 

The silence between them is a tense one, before Vergil finally speaks, “And what would you do with our father’s power then, Dante?” 

That is… not what Dante had expected Vergil to ask him at all, and he just stares at his brother until Vergil’s frown makes several new lines in his brother’s face. Not that having the brunt of Vergil’s ire directed at him does him any good though, because honestly? 

“I dunno.”

At Vergil’s vaguely murderous expression Dante lifts his shoulders in his best devil-may-care shrug. (He’s had a lot of practice with that one.) “Look, I didn’t intend to inherit anything else from the old man. Didn't need it. _You_ dragged me into this mess without so much as a by your leave, so forgive me if I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to think about what I’m gonna do with an extra sword.” He makes a sweeping gesture towards the Force Edge. “Honestly, I’m not sure I even want to keep it. It looks kinda lame. I’m thinking maybe I’ll sell it as scrap metal.” 

“_Dante_.”

“What? You telling me you think it looks cooler than the Yamato?” Dante sees Vergil’s fingers reach reflexively for her hilt, his brother’s scowl darkening, and he grins. Jackpot. “Alright, I answered your question. Now you tell me. Why do you want dad’s power?” 

Vergil is silent for a long, tense moment, looking away from Dante for the first time, body almost statuesque in its rigidity. As Dante watches, Vergil reaches towards his throat and draws his amulet free from his clothing with a slow, almost absent familiarity that suggests he’s not even really aware of what he’s doing. His thumb strokes over blood-red gem in the middle, gaze distant, before he closes the amulet in his fist and turns back towards Dante with a look that threatens to burn Dante to his very core. 

“I’m going to defeat Mundus with it.”

The claim steals all the air from Dante’s lungs in a single, painful spasm as his heart squeezes in his chest. He wants to say something witty, something cutting or snarky to lighten the mood, but his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, heavy with the weight of their shared loss. The power to defeat the one responsible for their mother's death huh… Dante has to admit, the thought makes something deep inside of his very soul stir, something wounded and savage and ugly, something he’s avoided having to face for more than ten years. His brow furrows as he firmly squashes that part of himself down with practiced ease, because thinking about Mundus and his legion of home-destroying demons never ends well. 

Truth be told, Dante has always tried _not_ to think about That Day whenever possible, because reliving a past he can’t change had always felt kind of pointless, like he was picking the scab off an old wound just to make it bleed again. It didn’t matter how many times he revisited That Day or even envisioned a different outcome; the fact remained that, for all of this supposed talent they both had, neither he nor his brother had been able to do anything to save the ones they loved. And honestly? That still hurt, like a dull ache in his chest, because he’d always thought there wasn’t anything that he and his brother couldn’t do. They'd always been clever children, picking up everything they put their minds to with a kind of ease most would envy. Even things that hadn’t interested him or been his forte — like reading, writing, and recitation — had never been a challenge for Dante; the same could have been said for the way Vergil, who rarely practiced, always effortlessly picked up his sword and made Dante work for his victories. But despite all the easy triumphs of their childhood, they could do nothing but sit and watch their whole world burn down around them, and Vergil…

Dante's eyes slide over his brother's tense form, cataloging the determined set of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, the guardedness in his eyes. Yeah, Vergil never took failure very well, and That Day? That Day had been the ultimate failure, on both their parts, and they’d both spent ten long years believing they’d lost everything because they hadn’t been enough. 

Exhaling heavily through his nose, Dante absently reaches for his own amulet, letting the comforting weight of it in his palm soothe the tumultuous undercurrent of his own emotions. Vergil is still watching him, all scowls and poise and wariness like he expects Dante to mock him for his desires. He knows Vergil has written him off, has known that since the day he showed up, stole Dante’s amulet, and then tossed it back with the claim he could retrieve it whenever it suited him. Dante knows Vergil thinks him too weak, too soft, too careless to be of any use, and after the way their first fight had ended, Dante would have been inclined to agree with him. 

But by cutting him down with words and weapons, Vergil had only made him stronger, so much so that Dante thought he had more than earned himself a say in what they did with their inheritance. Also, Vergil had been the one to involve him by all of this by inviting him here, regardless of what his ultimate intentions toward Dante had been. There were consequences to getting Dante involved and Vergil should have remembered that. If he didn’t, Dante is more than happy to remind him. 

“Do you think Dad’s power is gonna be enough?” When Vergil doesn’t answer him right away, Dante presses onward, “What about mine?” 

This time, Vergil’s silence is one of expectant confusion, and Dante bares his teeth in a grin. “Your plan is fine I guess, but I think it would be better if we fought Mundus, you know, _together_.”

That certainly gets his brother’s attention, and Vergil draws himself up as tall as he can manage while still seated, looking very much like an offended cat. This Vergil is incredibly familiar to him, and it makes Dante’s grin even wider. Vergil’s protest, too, is exactly what he thought it would be. 

“I don’t need your _help_, Dante.”

“Who says I’m helping you? You’re telling me I’m not allowed to take my revenge on the guy who came for my family?” 

Vergil’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue that point, and Dante can taste the sweet promise of victory on the tip of his tongue. He knows his brother enjoyed fighting at his side, knows that their temporary truce against Arkham was as good for Vergil as it was for him. All Dante needs to do is convince Vergil that it can be like that again, only this time against a bigger and more personal foe. 

“Don't you think it'd be a real kick in the nuts for Mundus to find out he couldn't even kill one of us? I wanna see the look on his face when _both_ of Sparda's sons show up to hand him his ass. It's gonna be one hell of a party, and I'm not about to miss it just because you want to hog all the fun.”

He’s moved forward without even realizing it, leaning into Vergil’s space so his brother had no choice but to look at him, no choice but to focus the entirety of his attention on Dante and what he’s saying. It’s an old trick, but one that served him well in their childhood, when Vergil tried to ignore Dante in favour of whatever book he happened to be reading at the time. Doing it now, especially after Vergil had expressed such keen interest in his amulet, is a dicey gamble, but Dante is willing to take the risk. Exposing himself to the threat of Vergil’s violence is the only way he’s going to convince Vergil that he really means what he says. 

Judging by the speculative look in Vergil’s eyes, which don’t so much as glance down to the amulet dangling within arm’s reach, Dante’s gamble seems to be paying off. 

“You want an alliance,” Vergil murmurs, low and thoughtful, and there’s an almost sub-vocal rumble to his voice that reaches somewhere deep in Dante’s core, disturbing still waters and sending forth tiny ripples in its wake. There’s more to this than just an exchange of words, and Dante has the sneaking suspicion he’s asking for something beyond just a temporary ceasefire. Even so, something dark and delighted flits beneath his skin, possessive like a claim waiting to be staked, and Dante lets a little of it bleed into the fierceness of his smile. 

“Yeah, sure, why not? You’re not gonna get a better offer anywhere else. There’s nobody on this planet half as talented or even a quarter as devilishly handsome as me.” 

He’s almost startled by Vergil’s genuine laugh, watching with a mixture of wariness and curiousity as Vergil’s shoulders shake with the force of his mirth. Once upon a time, Dante knew his brother’s every reaction, could read his mood and the way he’d react in the tiniest of tells. Now, the person that sits before him is just shy of a stranger wearing an intimately familiar face, and yet—

Dante watches as his brother runs his fingers through his wet hair and flicks it backward in an achingly familiar gesture. When he drops his hand, the face he reveals is just as familiar, alight with exasperation and amusement and something akin to fondness all at once. 

“Your narcissism is as unflattering as ever,” Vergil says, like they haven’t been apart for ten years and he still knows every part of Dante, like they’re still just two half-demon kids who believed nothing could truly hurt or come between them because they were _brothers_ and their mother would have their hides if they ever forgot it. 

(And they had, they both had, but now—)

The tiny smile Vergil shoots him alongside his cheeky words makes a new warmth blossom in Dante’s chest, a heat softer and less volatile than his anger. Turns out no matter what Vergil did and no matter how angry he made him, there’s still a part of Dante that loves him more than anything, that craves his attention and his affection even after all this time. Only his asshole of a brother would have this kind of effect on him.

“There was a compliment for you in there somewhere,” Dante assures him with a lazy wave of his hand, because admitting anything remotely like a _feeling_ would be incredibly unstylish. He should be a little faster with the quips, but he’s a little caught up in the tangled mess of hope and apprehension at the thought that he might get to have Vergil in his life again, after he’s lived so long without him. His insides twist a little at the threat of the unknown, but he forces himself to his feet in an effort to shake the feeling. Whatever bothersome emotions are determined to roil in his gut can wait until he’s ready to deal with them. Right now? He has a brother to keep. 

Dante holds out a steady, gloved hand towards his still-seated brother, never taking his eyes off Vergil’s face. 

“You in or what?” 

Vergil eyes his outstretched hand for a moment longer than Dante thinks it warrants, before he clasps it in his own and allows Dante to haul him to his feet. The movement brings them close, amulets almost clinking against each other, but the proximity is more than enough. With the tinkling of shattered glass, the barrier surrounding them falls away, the sound of rushing water filling the silence with a roar that sounds almost too loud given its earlier absence. Beside them, the Force Edge gleams in the faint light, solid and very real now that they’ve been sprung from their prison. 

“Might have done something a little different with my amulet if I knew how many things Dad used it as a key for,” Dante mutters under his breath, and he hears his brother’s echoing sigh of vexation. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Vergil glance towards the sword, but he doesn’t move, still lingering close to Dante as if waiting to see how they’re going to do this, and that’s… nice. It’s really nice. He could get used to having a brother again if it meant they could occasionally have moments like this. Dante’s grin almost hurts his face with how wide it is, and he releases Vergil’s hand so he can clap his brother on the shoulder, if only because he knows it’ll get him a dirty look. (Turns out, falling back into little brother habits is easier than he thought.) 

“I dunno about you but I’m beat. What do you say we blow this joint and go crash at my place? Figure out our next move when we’ve had some shut-eye.” 

Somehow, this feels like an even bigger leap than extending his hand to Vergil to shake on their alliance, and in many ways it is. Playing for the same team is definitely not the same as being invited to a permanent sleepover, and while Dante is a little surprised at himself with how readily he voiced the offer, he isn’t going to take it back. Beneath his hand, he feels Vergil’s shoulder tense briefly, but that’s all the indication he gets that his brother understands the worth of this offer as much as Dante does. Vergil’s expression remains smooth, though, and he shoots Dante an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye. His voice, when he speaks, has a note of what Dante almost wants to read as _concern_, though in reality he could just be speaking very carefully. Vergil’s gotten way better at keeping his feelings under wraps. 

“Being together will put an even bigger target on both our backs.”

The words make Dante frown. Is Vergil… worried about him? That thought would have made him feel all warm and fuzzy, if he were a touchy-feely sort of guy. 

“What, are you saying you can’t take the extra heat Vergil?”

Dante shoves him just to be obnoxious and definitely not to sidestep his feelings, laughing when Vergil takes a swipe at him in true brotherly fashion. His arm smarts at the blow — because his brother never pulls his punches, the dick — but he doesn’t retaliate. This fight is not one worth pursuing; at least, not until they’ve both had a shower and a nap and at least two whole pizzas each because Dante is in desperate need of all of those things (though not necessarily in that order.) First things first though: getting the hell out of this creepy hell portal. 

He heads over to pick up his sword, sheathing it on his back and watching as Vergil resettles the Yamato properly at his waist. It feels only natural to amble back towards him, like now that they’re not at odds there is some kind of invisible gravity that draws Dante back into his brother’s orbit when he strays too far. Vergil seems to feel it too, drifting almost unconsciously back to Dante’s side until they’re standing shoulder to shoulder, both gazing at the half-buried form of their father’s final sword. Earlier, when Dante had said he didn’t want anything of their father’s, he hadn’t been lying. He has a whole slew of Devil’s Arms at his disposal, many of which are far, far cooler than an old man’s out of date sword. And, while having it would probably give him a little more street cred just because it had been _ Sparda’s_, he has a feeling it would mean a lot to Vergil if he got to have it. 

So Dante lifts his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and turns away, like the Force Edge can’t possibly hold his interest. 

“Grab it and let’s get out of here.” 

Dante pretends he doesn’t notice how much his words surprise Vergil, his brother visibly startling beside him. Vergil hesitates only once, like he’s waiting for Dante to yell “gotcha” and rescind his offer, but when Dante merely jams his hands in his pockets and stares at a suddenly very interesting rock formation, Vergil makes his way towards the sword. This is probably a bad idea. Scratch that— this is definitely a bad idea. A voice in Dante’s head pointedly reminds him that once Vergil has the sword, all he needs is Dante’s amulet to re-open the portal, which he will now have regular access to thanks to Dante’s open invitation to his home. 

But he’s banking on Vergil’s word, that his brother will honour their temporary alliance and at the very least warn Dante before he decides to strike out on his own, with or without Dante’s amulet. It’s his riskiest gamble yet, but what would life be without some high stakes? Dante’s always enjoyed a challenge, after all, and Vergil has always been the ultimate combination of high risk, high reward. 

“Make haste, Dante, unless you intend to stay here.”

He must really be woolgathering, because Vergil’s voice nearly makes him jump, sounding a lot further away than he’d anticipated. Sure enough, the void around them is starting to shake and Vergil, now several feet in front of them, is standing poised and impatient beneath their only exit. There’s something so achingly familiar about the whole thing, seeing Vergil waiting for him like that with growing impatience; something so painfully nostalgic about the scene that it makes Dante’s chest hurt. He lingers a moment longer just to soak it in, making a show of patting himself down as though he’s worried he doesn’t have everything, though he never takes his eyes off his brother. 

Forget, his mother had said. Start a new life. And Dante had done what she’d asked, hadn’t he? He’d pulled himself up, armed himself with more suitable weapons until he fit his father’s sword, built a new home for himself not to replace the old one but to start anew. At the time, he’d just thought he was doing what she’d asked, moving forward one day at a time because there was nothing left for him in the past. He hadn’t realized that there would be a day where he’d be inviting his not-dead brother into his newly built home, into a place where they could start to remake the family they’d both lost. 

Oh he’s certain he’ll regret it in a few weeks, when the novelty of not being alone has worn off and he resents having to share his space, but right now? Right now he’s determined to enjoy every moment he gets to spend with his brother, learning every new part of him until they return to the way they were, two sides of the same coin. 

When Vergil calls his name a second time Dante doesn’t hesitate, taking off at a run towards his brother with a spring in his step. It’s time to leave this awful place behind and move forward, together, just like their mother would have wanted. 


End file.
